


Adorably Maddening

by Leniam



Series: Alternatively [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Drunk Will, Fluff, Hannibal doesn't kill him anyway, M/M, Will can do whatever he wants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10053008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leniam/pseuds/Leniam
Summary: A short story about Will messing up and Hannibal letting him get away with it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Adorabile molesto](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8747869) by [Leniam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leniam/pseuds/Leniam). 



> Translated by the wondeful  
> [BETWEEN-IRONANDSILVER](http://between-ironandsilver.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can think of this story taking place whenever you want in the series, just try and forget for a moment about Hannibal and Will as we are used to see them.  
> [SCRIVO](https://len-scrive.tumblr.com/)  
>   
> Questo è un posticino ancora abbastanza spoglio dove intendo racchiudere tutto quello che mi passa per la mente su ciò che scrivo e che non dico qui. Spero anche un posto in cui poter inserire altri miei progetti per il futuro.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on Tumblr doing a lot of stupid things Hannibal related. If you want to join me... :  
> [HE-S-DEAD-JIM](http://he-s-dead-jim.tumblr.com)

He knew something was wrong the moment he opened the door.

The coffee table in the hallway was not perfectly aligned with the bookshelf beside the window. Hannibal followed that single clue and immediately found many more.

A smeared footprint, some dust on his carpet, the sweaty print of a hand on the door frame.

Hannibal’s senses were alert and his muscles were tensed as he walked down the hallway.

He took a few steps, then stopped, shaking his head and smiling as he relaxed again.

The faint smell in the air was unmistakable; now Hannibal just needed to find out where he was hiding.

“Will?” Hannibal called out, stepping into the kitchen. “Is trespassing still a crime?” he teased.

He had once told him his kitchen was always open to friends.

Will must have taken that literally, since he hadn’t even waited for Hannibal to get back from work, before making himself at home.

If Hannibal was being honest with himself, though, he didn’t mind Will walking around inside his house whenever he wanted, no matter if Hannibal was not home yet and he had to break a window to get in. He was not going to tell him now, though, Will didn’t need to know all his privileges right away.

A waving hand was peeking out from behind his kitchen counter.

Hannibal turned on the light and stretched to look over it.

Sitting against the counter with his legs crossed was Special Agent Will Graham, who greeted him with a feeble, “Hello Doctor”.

His eyes were glossy and dazed, his hair dishevelled. Beside him, an open bottle of the best whiskey Hannibal had in his wine cellar, a bottle he was saving for very special occasions. The cap had rolled to the other side of the room, and Will seemed to have no intention of retrieving it.

He hadn’t even bothered to get a glass and properly savour the precious liquor; as if to make sure Hannibal knew he didn’t care at all about that, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a few long sips.

The younger man was surrounded by a few open cookbooks and handwritten recipes, but Hannibal couldn’t imagine they had been of any use to him, in the pitch dark kitchen. Maybe Will got there before the sun set.

There was an open tupperware container at his feet, where Hannibal had put some leftovers; no sign of a fork or anything of the sort, though, Will must have eaten with his hands.

Hannibal’s sweater was on the ground beside Will, too. The one plausible reason the doctor could think of to justify its presence was the coldness of his empty house.

Some of his drawings were splayed out in front of Will.

The doctor observed the utter mess for a while, and… no, he didn’t want to kill Will because of it. He double-checked, making sure he wasn’t misreading his instinct… still nothing. He wanted him alive and wasn’t even considering chopping off a few pieces for dinner.

No matter how rudely, tastelessly, vulgarly or weirdly Will behaved, Hannibal would let him get away with it.

He didn’t even consider this trespassing, actually, Will was more of his messy, adorably maddening flatmate coming back home.

And getting drunk. This was an interesting new side of him, and Hannibal made sure to add the notion to his wide knowledge of everything Will-related.

“I drew a still life,” Will stated proudly, giving Hannibal a piece of paper.

For a moment, Hannibal thought that the real subject of the drawing was going to be a corpse; but Will was not trying to make a joke, he had actually drawn an apple, a pear, and a very original pineapple. He had used a brand new sheet of paper, so that he didn’t have to ruin one of Hannibal’s drawings.

Hannibal squatted down beside him. He pointed at another drawing, stuck under Will’s legs. “I suppose that is a penis,” he said, looking sideways at Will’s work with a serious look on his face.

Will turned towards the drawing, took it in his hands and squinted at it, trying to bring it into focus even without his glasses, then he exclaimed, “What are you talking about? It’s a rabbit.”

“Are those supposed to be its ears?” Hannibal asked, and Will nodded energetically.

“Alright,” Hannibal conceded, “What did you need my drawing for? Inspiration?”

A charming smile appeared on Will’s face. Hannibal felt sorry that his cheerfulness was only due to the alcohol slowing down his mental faculties, he would have loved to see him like that all the time.

“No, I was…” Will waved his hand, “I was emulating you. So that I could understand you.”

Hannibal pretended he was deeply interested in the conversation. “Oh… what did you find out about me?”

“You like cooking,” Will listed, counting his discoveries on his fingers, “And drawing,” he went on.

Hannibal’s laugh interrupted him. He didn’t laugh very often, but Will seemed to bring it out of him. The young man had an incredible talent for making the most absurd and inappropriate comments Hannibal had ever heard someone make in public.

And Hannibal had discovered he actually found them funny, in some precise circumstances Will never failed to create, even though he did so involuntarily.

“Would you tell me what made you decide to drink yourself silly?” Hannibal asked, softly touching Will’s head.

Will’s expression turned very serious. “I had nothing to drink at home… and I wanted to talk to you...” he mumbled.

“How will you be able to talk to me, when half your vocabulary is drowning inside that bottle?”

Will picked up the whiskey and frowned as he looked inside the bottle, presumably searching for his lost vocabulary.

“And I didn’t want to be alone,” he concluded, taking the bottle to his lips again. Hannibal took it away from him, ready to face his complaints, but Will pouted instead.

Just adorable.

Hannibal sat down on the floor beside him. “You have drunk enough for tonight,” he stated, putting the bottle down far away from Will. “I’m glad you came here. But I still don’t understand your need for alcohol.”

“You were not home.”

“And so you got drunk because you could not think of anything better to do? Aren’t you a bit old for that kind of carelessness, Will?”

Will stared silently at an undefined spot in front of him, looking every bit like an unhappy child who has just been reprimanded.

Hannibal found it very peculiar: if this were anyone else, he would have killed them right away, without even taking his time to thoroughly enjoy their pain; he would have done it as quickly as possible, to get rid of this nuisance.

This was Will, though, and Hannibal just wanted to hold him in his arms.

“Where were you?” Will asked, turning his head towards the doctor but still not meeting his eyes.

“I was out… doing some shopping,” Hannibal answered. He had nothing against Will’s inquiries, but despite his intoxicated state, he really couldn’t tell him where he had been.

“You were with Alana,” Will stated with a shrug.

“No, Will, I was not.”

Will grabbed Hannibal’s leg for stability as he tried to stand up. He kneeled and then clutched at the edge of the kitchen counter as he staggered on his feet.

Hannibal closely followed his movements, then he got up to stand by his side and help him.

Will lost his balance and the doctor had to keep him from falling, fully supporting his weight with his own body. Will was way drunker than what he seemed while sitting on the floor.

“Come on, Will, I will help you get to the couch,” Hannibal put his arm around Will’s back and pushed him towards the living room. Getting there took quite a while, Will’s hands constantly pressed against the wall for support.

When he finally saw the couch, he immediately let himself fall down on it and threw his head back as if keeping it upright was just too much work. “The sweater… I forgot the sweater in the kitchen,” Will blindly pointed towards that general direction.

“The sweater? You mean my sweater? I can get you a blanket if you’re cold.”

“No, I want the sweater,” Will insisted, and Hannibal decided there was no point in denying him. His intoxicated mind probably had its reasons, which were right now precluded to Hannibal’s understanding.

He walked to the kitchen and took his sweater back to Will. Will held it close. “Can I take it back home?” he asked, looking up at Hannibal even though it seemed to be increasingly difficult for him to move his head.

Hannibal furrowed his brow. “Yes… yes, of course, Will, it’s yours to take wherever you want. What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting down beside him.

“I’m sad. And drunk.”

“I would say one is more obvious than the other,” Hannibal commented. “Why are you sad?”

Will moved his head to look at him, his eyes half-lidded. He didn’t speak at first, slowly blinking as he tried to bring Hannibal into focus. He looked like he was about to fall asleep.

“You know you’re really beautiful?” Will suddenly said.

Hannibal frowned and didn’t even try to hide his surprise. “Well… in vino veritas, so… thank you,” he said, pleased. “You are quite handsome, too. I like you better when you’re sober, though.”

Will lifted the corner of his mouth. It could have looked like a smile, if his eyes hadn’t been openly reeking sadness. He was probably going through the melancholic phase of his hangover.

“Are you worried there’s something between me and Alana?” Hannibal asked, interpreting Will’s questions.

Will nodded and his slightly pouted lips bent downwards. Oh, that was adorable, Hannibal couldn’t believe how endearing Will looked, he couldn’t believe he was actually thinking that about a human being!

“You’re wrong about that. There’s nothing between us. Believe me, she is not interested in me,” he didn’t really care about reassuring Will about that, but apparently the younger man’s adorableness was softening him. He felt sorry for him, worrying about Alana this much, when she only considered him an interesting subject to study.

“But are you interested in her?” Will asked.

“No, I’m not. Are you?” the conversation almost sounded ridiculous, now, probably because half of the participants was lost in an alcohol-induced daze, but Hannibal could sense they were getting close to the core.

“I’m interested in you,” Will softly said, frowning and pointing at Hannibal with his index finger, sounding like he was sharing a very important secret. He looked quite resolute.

Hannibal tried to suppress a laugh but didn’t quite succeed. It wasn’t Will’s confession he found funny, but his expression. Whiskey had either made him upfront in telling the truth or ironic in telling lies.

Hannibal just needed to determine which one it was.

He wouldn’t have minded this admission, were it coming from a properly functioning brain. But Will was never like that when sober. He was wary, always reluctant to get close to him and often gloomy, definitely not inclined to any declaration.

Drunk-Will leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s lips, stressing just _how_ different he was from real Will.

“There,” he stiffly nodded to ratify his gesture.

Hannibal’s mouth fell slightly open and he silently stared at Will. He was not so willing to laugh about this anymore; he liked this version of Will, and he knew he was going to be hurt when it disappeared with his hangover.

“You are interested in me,” Hannibal repeated, keeping his voice even and indifferent.

“I’m in love with you,” Will amended, raising his finger.

“Oh, great, in love. Thank you for specifying that. Well… how long have you been in love with me?”

“Since you brought me breakfast in my motel room.”

Hannibal bit down on his cheek.

Adorable.

“That long?” he went on, pretending this was just an ordinary conversation.

Will shrugged and laughed, embarrassed.

Adorable.

“You make me feel understood,” Will explained, “And no one else understands me,” he shook his head. “You’re my friend, you take care of me. When we are talking… I feel like…” Will looked up at the ceiling for inspiration. “I feel like the world makes sense, like I make sense.”

Those did not sound like the kind of sentences a drunk man would be able to put together. Hannibal realized he hadn’t moved a single muscle and had held his breath the whole time Will had been talking. He came back to himself and swallowed, unable to find something witty to say.

“I’ve always told myself,” Will went on, “Living my life without ever meeting my soulmate would be way better than finding them and knowing I can’t have them. But I’m actually happy I know you… even though I can’t have you.”

Hannibal stroke his cheek.

“I apologise for telling you your vocabulary was drowning inside that bottle,” Hannibal paused and cleared his throat. “I want you to know that I’m very sorry you won’t remember any of this tomorrow morning. But at least that means there is no reason to stop there. Why would you think I don’t want to be with you? What makes you say that?”

Will’s face and eyes immediately lightened up: Hannibal was surprised to find out how widely Will was able to open them. “But… why didn’t you tell me, then?”

“I didn’t think of you as the type of man who would welcome that kind of attentions… if they were coming from me.”

Will regressed to the three-year-old child alcohol was turning him into. “I was way braver than you, then. I told you,” he stated.

“You chugged down a three thousand dollars Port Ellen and you’re calling yourself brave?” Hannibal considered it for a second and then said, “Yes, you’re right, Will, but it’s a different sort of courage. I would call it nerve, more than anything else. You had the nerve to be beautifully and adorably bold, tonight.”

Hannibal smiled at his own comment. Will didn’t look like he really got the last part of their conversation, anyway. He was almost asleep, his head resting on the armrest and his lips parted. He clutched at the sweater and took it from where it was curled around his legs so that he could use it as a pillow. “Smells good,” he said as he hid his nose in the cloth, desperately trying to keep his eyes open.

Hannibal leaned forward and buried his face in the space between Will’s neck and shoulder, holding him tightly in his arms. Will was soundly asleep in a matter of seconds. 

 

 

 

Hannibal couldn’t get any rest that night.

Will had fallen asleep on the couch, and Hannibal had covered him in a blanket and left him there to cure his hangover in the only possible way.

Well, throwing up was the other option.

Hannibal didn’t know if Will had to spend the night throwing back up all the whiskey he had ingested, but he hadn’t heard any noise coming from downstairs, so Will was probably feeling okay. Hopefully.

Hannibal got up and started tidying up the mess in his kitchen and that kept him busy all morning. He checked the living room more than once; Will could be easily mistaken for the perfect picture of the sleep of the righteous, instead of someone dying in his sleep because of alcohol poisoning.

Adorable.

Hannibal hadn’t even tried to get his sweater back, and Will had wrapped it over himself in his sleep.

After a while, Hannibal decided he needed to get a grip on himself; the sweet moment they shared was over the minute Will fell asleep, and daydreaming about their relationship wasn’t doing him any good. Fantasizing about having an FBI agent around the house wasn’t really a wise idea for a serial killer, anyway.

But he gave up on being wise around Will quite a long time ago, around the time they had breakfast together in that motel room, a few days after they met for the first time.

Actually, if Will had been honest the night before, they had always been on the same page; their interest for each other was born on the same exact occasion.

“Hey…”

Hannibal turned around, surprised.

Not because Will had just entered his kitchen, but because he had been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t even heard the other man walking up to him.

Great, now he couldn’t even count on his senses to be perfectly alert around Will anymore. He should probably consider retiring from his serial killer career quite soon.

He smiled. Will was a FBI Special Agent, after all, he must have been trained for this.

“Will… how are you feeling?”

“As if I had just been hit by a truck?”

The younger man’s relaxed expression was a painful reminder that he probably had no memory of the previous night.

“Powerful image, but still quite banal,” Hannibal replied, feigning interest for the dull conversation.

“I was just trying to retrieve my vocabulary from that whiskey bottle,” Will bit back, sitting down on one of the stools at the kitchen counter.

Hannibal started listening more carefully, something in the air between them suddenly giving him goose bumps.

“I’m… I’m sorry about last night, Hannibal…” Will spoke while staring at his joined hands on the counter, “I’m sorry about coming here without permission, about leaving all your stuff there on the floor, about drinking your expensive whiskey and eating your leftovers with my fingers…”

“Alright, Will,” Hannibal interrupted him, knowing all too well where this was going, much to his disappointment. “Don’t worry. I forgive you. Now you only need to apologise for that last thing and then everything will be settled.”

The doctor folded his arms and stared at him, waiting.

Will looked up, slowly shook his head and grimaced. “I am not going to apologise for anything else. I’m… hoping you won’t, either.”


End file.
